


i turn my camera on

by sunsetpanic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetpanic/pseuds/sunsetpanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/6131.html?thread=4443379#t4443379">Kinkmeme</a> fill:</p><p>Stiles does online porn shows in his bedroom, broadcast on his webcam. People pay money to subscribe to his show in order to type requests/commands on what they want Stiles to do to himself during the live-feed. Derek either A) stumbles across Stiles' webshow and/or B) climbs through Stiles' window when he's in the middle of a show. Any and all kinks welcome, take it from there!</p>
            </blockquote>





	i turn my camera on

Stiles starts doing it almost accidentally; he needs money for car repairs, and jerking off on camera for some faceless, nameless guy seems like a pretty easy way to do it. Besides, the money’s good, and it beats tutoring (which is what he tells his dad he’s doing, when he tells him anything at all). He’s just doing what comes naturally, right? 

He doesn’t expect to _enjoy_ it, though, is the thing. Before long he’s spending most of his paychecks on toys—clamps, plugs, dildos, whatever he gets the most requests for. Eventually he even finds himself ordering a pair of panties from Victoria’s Secret and stalking the tracking number until they arrive so his dad doesn’t find out and sit him down for another horribly awkward, eye-contact-avoiding sex talk. 

Somewhere along the line he ends up listed as the site’s number one star. It does wonders for his ego, honestly; before he began doing this, he never heard anything about his looks from anyone, let alone _specifics_. It’s a little weird the first time he sees someone wax rhapsodic about his cocksucking lips, but hey, Stiles takes his compliments where he can. And if he sometimes (okay, constantly; he’s seventeen, okay?) thinks about what it would actually be like to do the things he talks about, there’s no one to judge him. 

Mostly he’s just glad that he’s managed to keep this from everyone else; he loves Scott like a brother, really, but discretion isn’t really one of his best features. It would come out _somehow_. In the most embarrassing way possible for Stiles, probably. There would be mockery. There would be GIF sets (Erica’s way too good at Photoshop, it’s an issue) and he’d never be able to look anyone in the eye ever again. Including Derek. _Especially_ Derek, fuck. 

He’s ten minutes into an hour-long session with one of his regulars—that’s the other thing about the webcam porn business, you get regulars, which would be weird if it wasn’t a chat-based service—when things go horribly, horribly wrong. 

It’s pretty much the worst possible night for anyone to show up, let alone someone who Stiles has incredibly embarrassing dreams about. This particular regular (DildoCalrASSian, because _of course_ Stiles gets the nerdy ones, it’s his lot in life) has a thing for lingerie. Specifically, he has a thing for _Stiles_ in lingerie. So Stiles is sprawled out on his bed, the silk of the panties he bought the other week sliding teasingly against his cock, when his window opens. 

And probably because Stiles did something really, really awful in a past life (and because everyone else in his life uses the front door) it’s _Derek Hale_. Who just—stands there, staring at Stiles like he thinks an explanation is going to show up if he squints hard enough. 

“So this is kind of awkward,” Stiles says to the ceiling. It doesn’t answer him. Derek doesn’t either; Stiles isn’t particularly surprised on either count. “So, uh, hypothetically, what would it take for you to pretend this never happened?” He chances a look down at his erection; humiliation _definitely_ isn’t his thing. “This is so killing my reviews,” he sighs. 

Derek finally moves, and it’s not at all in the direction Stiles thought he’d go (namely far, far away like a sensible person). “You—” He gestures at Stiles, apparently at a loss for words. 

“Seriously, though,” Stiles says. “Money? A kidney? Do werewolves even need organ donations? I guess you could sell it.” His brain’s on _strike_ , clearly. 

“I don’t want your kidney,” Derek somehow manages to sound _cranky_ about it, which is actually kind of hilarious. Stiles’s laptop pings, and Derek swivels towards it like he’s on autopilot. “He wants to know why I’m not joining in,” Derek says slowly. He turns back towards Stiles and oh, good, the Hale stare is back. Super. 

“Of course he does,” Stiles mutters, ignoring the warmth that’s spreading through him at the idea. “You should probably go,” he says, waving in the general direction of the window. 

Derek’s gaze drags down Stiles’ body, leaving him shivering, and really, this is just unfair. No one should have to deal with this, let alone Stiles. He has no idea why Derek hasn’t fled already; probably he’s just staying long enough to gather blackmail material. But Derek’s already shrugging off his jacket and moving towards the bed. Towards _Stiles_. 

“Can I?” he asks hesitantly, moving carefully towards the bed. Like there was ever any chance Stiles would say no. 

Stiles musters up a nod in response. “I— _yes_ , god, obviously,” he says, because even if this isn’t exactly how he imagined it going, he’s definitely on board with any and all Derek Hale-related sex. 

Apparently that satisfies whatever moral question Derek needed answered—he nods like Stiles just said something earth-shakingly profound and toes off his shoes, moving closer in. He drags his shirt off in one smooth movement, settling on the bed behind Stiles. Stiles jumps as a warm arm curves around his shoulders and Derek’s legs hook around Stiles’ ankles, forcing his legs even further apart and leaving him sprawled against Derek’s chest. 

“Jesus, Derek,” Stiles says shakily. “Way to just jump right in.” 

Derek’s laugh vibrates against Stiles’ neck. “You want to put on a good show, don’t you?” he murmurs in Stiles’ ear. And Stiles means to answer, he really does, but then Derek slides a hand to the chain that’s linking the clamps on Stiles’ nipples and _tugs_ , and whatever Stiles had to say gets lost in a moan. 

Derek glances at the monitor. “He wants us to talk. Is that normal?” he says, keeping his voice low. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, once he’s rediscovered speech. “They like that.” 

“What do you usually say?” Derek undoes the clamps, then drags his hand down Stiles’ chest, thumbing a circle around his nipple as he goes. Stiles rears up—he forgot how _sensitive_ he gets after having the clamps on, and he can feel every ridge on Derek’s thumb as it drags against the skin. 

“Um, how whatever they’re having me do feels.” Stiles shrugs. “Or sometimes what I’m thinking about when I’m jerking off.” He’s not so sure he wants to go into details, fantasy-wise. 

Derek hums in his ear. “What do you say to them?” he asks, running his nails up Stiles’ thighs. 

Stiles twists a little in Derek's arms. “This is incredibly weird,” he says conversationally. “Just so you know.” 

“Looks like it’s working for you, though,” Derek points out, sliding up to palm at Stiles’ cock, which is definitely back in the game. Stiles lets out a low groan and arches up into the touch. He makes a heroic try at a resentful glare, but the curl of Derek’s lips says that he failed spectacularly. “You look good in these,” he says, tracing around the edge of the silk. 

Stiles almost doesn’t answer—he’s too busy watching Derek’s hands, big and possessive on the pale spread of Stiles’ thighs. He turns his head, meaning to say something; ‘thank you,’ maybe? How is he supposed to even _answer_ that? but Derek’s mouth is on his before he can think too much about it. It’s a bare, careful smudge of a kiss, almost chaste, and Derek pulls back almost immediately. It’s Stiles’ first kiss, though, and that’s more than a little weird, too—one of the many, many weird things in Stiles’ life right now. 

“Glad you like ‘em,” Stiles manages finally. He was shooting for cool, maybe a little flirty—it comes out wavery, almost uncertain. Stiles hasn’t ever been as good an actor as he is a liar. 

Derek pulls back and looks at him narrowly. “You don’t have to,” he says, and now it’s his turn to look unsure. Or as unsure as Derek ever looks, anyway. Maybe Derek’s only running on bravado, too. The idea shores up what’s left of Stiles’ courage. 

“No shit,” Stiles says. He twists himself around enough to manage another kiss, this one hard and deep and as filthy as he can make it. Which isn’t very; he’s running off some very detailed fantasies and a lot of porn-watching, here. Derek isn’t exactly helpful at first, either. His mouth is still, open against Stiles’, and he only moves when Stiles hisses in exasperation and nips at his slack bottom lip. 

Derek _finally_ gets the idea, then, and it gets so, so much better. His breathing goes ragged and he kisses Stiles like he’s been waiting for it, like he’s _desperate_ for it. 

“Gotta make it a good show,” Stiles reminds him. He grins at the eyeroll Derek gives him in response; there’s something comforting about the familiar exasperation in the expression. It evaporates, though, when Stiles has a moment of inspiration and flips around so he’s straddling Derek’s thighs. He settles his hands on Derek’s shoulders and grinds _down_ , manages to make the movement smooth and almost graceful. 

“If that’s how you wanna play it,” Derek says, arching an eyebrow. He settles a deliberate hand on Stiles’ thigh and slides the other up to tease at the lace hem of the underwear. 

“What—” But Stiles doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t want to, because Derek’s curling long fingers around Stiles’ cock through the silk. “ _Nngh_ ,” Stiles finishes, and he’s pretty proud he manages to get that much out. 

“Anyone ever fucked this pretty little mouth of yours?” Derek asks, dragging his thumb along Stiles’ bottom lip. 

“No,” Stiles says, letting his eyes fall shut. “But _you_ could, if you wanted,” he adds, and why the hell is he _blushing_ now? It’s not like he doesn’t say filthier things every time he turns on his webcam. But this is real. This is Derek. 

“I could?” Derek’s still rubbing his thumb idly across Stiles’ mouth, but his eyes are intent and dark when he lifts his gaze. “Do you want to? I’ve thought about it, you know,” he says. “You on your knees for me.” 

Stiles swallows hard and lets his eyes drop down to Derek’s spread legs, the unmistakable bulge of his cock. He’s thought about what it would be like; the weight of Derek on his tongue, the _taste_ of him. Derek’s hands on Stiles, urging him on. 

He scrambles off the end of the bed, wincing a little at the stretch in his newly-freed muscles. Derek stares at him for a second until he gets where Stiles is going with this and scoots down so he’s sitting on its edge, legs sprawled wide and inviting. Stiles sinks to his knees, twisting around quickly to face his laptop. “Is this okay?” he asks. He feels a little bad; if DildoCalrASSian’s been typing anything, Stiles definitely hasn’t been paying attention. There’s nothing new on the chat window, though, and he sighs with relief when a _YES_ pops up, followed shortly by _ARE U KIDDING ME KEEP GOING_. 

“Guess we got the go-ahead,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles’ breath catches a little at the look in his eyes: they’re all pupil right now, intent and questioning. 

He gathers his courage, reaches up and unzips Derek’s fly; he’s never done this before, never even come close, but he’s described it plenty. That’s gotta count for something, right? 

Stiles settles his hands high up on Derek’s thighs and just _looks_ for a second, drinks in the dull red flush that’s spreading down his chest, the clench of his hands in the bedclothes. He drags his eyes down to Derek’s cock, straining against the thin cotton of his briefs, and reaches out to run a cautious finger up its length. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, not quite begging. Stiles wets his lips and pulls out Derek’s cock, thumbing over the head before leaning forward to mouth tentatively at it. Derek breathes in sharply and reaches out to curve an encouraging hand around Stiles’ neck, and that’s more than enough: Stiles wraps his lips around Derek’s cock and sinks down as far as he can, casting a covert look up through his eyelashes to make sure he’s not, like, committing any blowjob cardinal sins here. Not that he has any idea what would constitute a blowjob sin, really, but Stiles is really sure he doesn’t want to find out. Apparently he’s doing fine so far—Derek groans, surging up quickly and then murmuring what Stiles thinks might be an apology. 

It’s a little awkward at first; Stiles’ head isn’t angled right, and he has no idea what to do, really. But he does what he always does—wings it, and the noise Derek makes when Stiles flutters his tongue against the underside of his cock makes it so, so worth it. 

He pulls back after a while, more to rest his jaw than anything else; Stiles is pretty sure nobody in porn ever mentions the fact that blowjobs are fucking _exhausting_. He’s not complaining or anything, but seriously. _Ow_. 

“Come up here,” Derek says, tugging at Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles would be worried, but Derek’s still hugely, undeniably hard, so Stiles figures he’s probably doing okay. 

Stiles is about to climb back up onto the bed when Derek (exhibiting more of his characteristic patience) _pulls_ him up, rolling them around so Stiles is sprawled on his back with Derek nosing up his neck and moving his hands in long, careful sweeps down Stiles’ chest. 

Derek mouths up Stiles’ jaw, dragging a moan out of him. “Jesus, Stiles,” he murmurs. “Do you have any idea what you _sound_ like right now?” 

Stiles has no idea, and he’s not so sure he cares. “Please,” he groans. “Just— _Derek_ , c’mon.” He slides up and grabs blindly for the toy and lube he stashed on the bedside table before the session started. He’s definitely not up for getting fucked live on webcam—that seems extreme even for tonight—but he needs _something_. He lifts his hips up and wriggles out of the (ruined) panties, making a note to go hunting for them later. 

Derek’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He pulls the bottle out of Stiles’ hands and pools the lube in his palm sliding his hand down the delicate skin behind Stiles’ balls. Stiles gasps at the first press of Derek’s fingers against his hole; it’s not like this is _new_ , but it’s never been anyone else’s hand. He wants _more_ , though, and he pushes down, taking in a deep breath when Derek’s fingers curl inside him in a way Stiles has never quite been able to manage by himself. 

“Ready?” Derek runs a hand up Stiles’ side and leans down to bite up the curve of Stiles’ jaw. “So fucking gorgeous like this,” he says quietly. Stiles knows the look on Derek’s face; he’s seen it on Scott when he looks at Allison, sometimes, and it’s always pulled a sort of uneasy envy out of him. He didn’t think anyone—much less _Derek_ —would ever look at him like that, like Stiles was something rare and precious, and a pang goes through him at the thought that this is getting broadcast. It’s something he wants to think about, something that deserves a lot of consideration, but _later_. 

For now Stiles just arches up and spreads his legs, opening himself up even more to Derek’s eyes, his _hands_ , and Derek seems to take that as the answer it is. He slicks his hand over the toy and slides it in, starts fucking Stiles with long, sure strokes. Stiles drives back into it, hard and desperate and shameless, grinding down breathlessly. He’s never needed to come this badly in his _life_. 

“Like that?” Derek asks lowly. His eyes are fixed on Stiles, pale and intent. 

“Wish it was you,” Stiles grinds out. “In me, god, _Derek_ , want you so bad—” He watches in fascination as Derek’s eyes darken in response. 

“It will be,” he promises, pulling the dildo out and setting it aside, and that’s it, that’s all she wrote, Stiles’ brain is officially offline forever. Derek’s other hand is wrapping around his cock, huge and warm, and Stiles drives up into it blindly again and again. 

Orgasm whites out his vision, and Stiles comes to with come—his and Derek’s, apparently—splattering his chest. Derek’s mouth on his comes as a sweet surprise, lingering and careful. 

“So, uh.” Stiles nestles back against Derek’s chest. “Would you maybe be up for a repeat sometime?” He’s doing an awful job at sounding casual, and he thinks that’s kind of the point: Stiles wants Derek as a regular. A costar, even, if he’s getting sentimental. In the distance, he thinks he hears the _ping_ of DildoCalrASSian logging off. 

Derek’s arms tighten around him. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and then, “Wait, was this an audition?” 

“Yes,” Stiles says, straight-faced. “It was all part of my master plan. Somehow.” He’s tired, and filthy, and he and Derek are seriously going to have to shower at some point soon, but for now— Stiles decides not to think about it. It’ll all get done.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely halffizzbin for an excellent beta, and to scikopathik for cheerleading and nitpicking and to both of them for being generally awesome <3
> 
> And the usual note: I post bits and pieces of things on my [tumblr](http://sunsetpanic.tumblr.com) sometimes, come hang out!


End file.
